


Taffy Stuck and Tongue-Tied

by angelowl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Jaime's Dyslexic Cock, Jealousy, Pining, codependent bffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27591433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelowl/pseuds/angelowl
Summary: Margaery said Jaime was a selfish prick who needed to learn to share. Sansa, ever the romantic, insisted he was secretly in love with Brienne, not his longtime girlfriend Cersei, and that it wasobvious.“If that were true, he’d have made a move long before now,” Brienne countered. “Jaime’s an open book. He’d shout it from the rooftops.”“He probably doesn’t want to risk losing your friendship.” Sansa’s eyes shone with conviction.Brienne scoffed, but in the days that followed doubts trickled in and something even more insidious – hope.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 334
Kudos: 454





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: The codependency between Jaime and Brienne is somewhat romanticized in this and I won't be exploring just how toxic that level of closeness can be in the real world. Or at least not in any significant, in-depth way where everyone goes to therapy. Bail now if that’s gonna be an issue for you.

Margaery said Jaime was a selfish prick who needed to learn to share. Sansa, ever the romantic, insisted he was secretly in love with Brienne, not his longtime girlfriend Cersei, and that it was _obvious_.

“If that were true, he’d have made a move long before now,” Brienne countered. “Jaime’s an open book. He’d shout it from the rooftops.”

“He probably doesn’t want to risk losing your friendship.” Sansa’s eyes shone with conviction.

Brienne scoffed, but in the days that followed doubts trickled in and something even more insidious – hope. Sansa had well and truly gotten into her head.

It was like a veil had been lifted and suddenly all the uncomfortable, inconvenient thoughts and memories she’d kept so carefully tucked away in the dark recesses of her mind came surging to life, rippling into view.

Brienne had met Jaime when she transferred to King's Landing Junior High at age 14. He was the all-around golden boy, star quarterback on the football team and much-ballyhooed captain of the baseball team. 

Naturally, his girlfriend was none other than head cheerleader, Cersei Waters, the most beautiful girl on the squad and the meanest by a mile. She had these whims, you see, of casually destroying reputations when the mood struck her. Just because she could. It was said she could ruin you with the mere snap of her fingers. 

While Brienne hadn’t initially suffered the misfortune of interacting with Cersei, the same couldn’t be said of Jaime. She’d been catapulted head-first into his orbit at the very beginning of the school year.

It was safe to say they’d gotten off to a rocky start. When the teacher had paired them up for an assignment, he’d looked her up and down and called her ‘Big Bird’ with a cruel sneer and she’d retorted that she expected him to do his fair share of the work. She might’ve implied she thought he was a lazy jerk who just wanted to cheat off her, and he might’ve interpreted ‘lazy’ as code for ‘stupid’ which it kind of was and well, it all went downhill from there. 

They could have gone on that way indefinitely, him making cutting little remarks at her expense ('Big Bird' had eventually been shortened to 'Birdie' and he'd taken great delight in flinging it at her like a curse) and her trying to freeze him with the power of her icy glare, but fate intervened. 

A month into the school year they'd collided in the grocery store and Jaime decided to be a pest and follow her around while she did the rest of her shopping. He'd heckled her in the produce section, delivering an unflattering impression of her wherein he primly extolled the virtues of eating a well-balanced diet. 

As she picked up her leafy greens, he'd scrutinized her biceps and declared that somebody'd been eating her spinach. "You got nothing on Popeye the Sailor Man toot toot," he'd sung obnoxiously. "By the way, just how much can you curl?" 

She'd ignored him, but that hadn't stopped him from trailing along after her and continuing his unwelcome commentary. "Don't you ever have a cheat day? Just grab some greasy fast food on your way home and gorge on it?" 

She'd grimaced at the thought and he'd laughed. 

"Oh, Birdie, you eat like...well, a bird. You're missing out." He'd gestured to his shopping basket that was filled to the brim with junk food. "Come on, live a little..." he'd taunted her, ripping into a cardboard box to offer her a powdered donut hole. 

She'd declined with a disapproving scowl. "You're not supposed to open anything or eat it before buying it. And if you keep eating like that, sooner or later it'll catch up with you," she'd warned him. 

"Awww, worried about me ruining my perfect physique, are you? Don't want to see all this," and here he'd lifted his shirt to bare his toned stomach, "go to seed." 

She'd blushed and quickly averted her eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of ogling him. "I meant athletically you'll pay the price. You won't be as strong or as fast if you don't fuel your body properly." 

He'd given his six-pack a hearty slap and flashed her a cocky grin. "Don't worry, I haven't heard any complaints...and I doubt that'll change in the future. In fact, I think time will only _enhance_ my _performance_." 

She'd blushed even harder and booked it down the aisle, hoping he'd take the hint and go away, but he doggedly matched her pace, refusing to be shaken off that easily.

They had just gotten in line at the check-out and he'd shamelessly inhaled a donut hole in full view of the cashier when the store was robbed by some coked-up punks. 

Jaime had mouthed off. Like a damn fool he’d actually uttered the words, "Come at me, bro," and Brienne had instinctively shoved him behind her. 

Guns had been brandished. And in the end it’d been Jaime who’d shielded her with his body, taking a bullet in the shoulder. (After that, without fail, he always rubbed that shoulder mournfully whenever he wanted to guilt her into doing something for him. And without fail, his ploy was successful and she folded like a cheap suit.)

They’d been best friends ever since.

Cersei hadn’t understood it or approved, but Brienne had stayed out of her way, only spending time with Jaime when his girlfriend was MIA which was more and more often as the years passed. Brienne assumed Cersei allowed their friendship to continue because there was safety in knowing someone like Jaime would never seriously be tempted by someone like Brienne. 

Better that her boyfriend spend his spare time with an ugly, awkward, hulking girl than with his male buddies who might want to leverage their friend’s movie star good looks to pick up pretty young things at clubs and bars. Cersei was diligent about driving off her real competition and could afford to be benevolent and let Jaime keep his sexless mascot on the side.

What Cersei didn’t know was that behind closed doors their friendship was not exactly what you’d call typical. 

Jaime was inordinately affectionate with Brienne, inordinately tactile, and that was putting it mildly. They regularly indulged their shared competitive streak with some spirited bouts of arm-wrestling, thumb wars, and tickle fights. All of which could have fallen neatly under the umbrella of horseplay, if not for how he’d hold her hand when they were hanging out at his house or hers, put his arm around her shoulders, give her a back rub, nuzzle her neck and cheek like a lion scent-marking a member of its pride. He even braided her hair on occasion when he was bored.

She’d never had anyone touch her quite so much. Not willingly. Contact sports didn’t count. And certainly not with overt fondness. Even her father possessed a cooler temperament which meant she’d been on the receiving end of more gruff nods than hugs growing up. 

By all accounts, Jaime’s demonstrative nature should’ve unsettled her, unused to it as she was. Her young life had prepared her for people to recoil and back up a step at the sight of her homely face. Not for someone to reach out and pull her closer. 

But instead of being leery and flinching away from such overtures, she found she innately trusted him and welcomed his touch. The blithe physicality of their relationship suffused her with a warm glow. His apparent need for her in his life and desire to gather her close had been a potent combination. Damn near addictive. 

After the shooting, there was a fond, almost tender quality to his voice whenever he called her 'Birdie' that let her know it was no longer intended as an insult, but rather as an endearment. She'd never had a nickname before, not one that was meant kindly anyway, and she discovered she liked the familiarity inherent in being granted one.

She accepted every facet of this all-encompassing intimacy as a direct result of having survived a life or death situation together. Of course, their friendship was more intense than other people’s after having survived something like that. Shared trauma made for a hell of a bonding exercise. 

When she watched old movies with her dad she’d often liken their bond to that of wartime buddies then laugh inwardly at the thought of those stoic soldiers trading back rubs and braiding each other’s hair.

Jaime had been the one who taught her how to kiss at 16. 

He’d been on a break with Cersei at the time and they’d gone to a party where Seven Minutes in Heaven was being played. A bit juvenile for the age of the crowd assembled, but the majority were just drunk enough to think it was a fantastic idea. 

Tormund had ogled her in such a blatant way that even Brienne with her low self-esteem couldn’t mistake his interest when he’d winked at her and approached. He was a couple years older than her, boorish yet good-natured enough, with a big barrel chest that made him seem larger than he was. 

There was something primal in his gaze and forceful in the way he moved toward her that let her know he wouldn’t bestow just a mere peck on the lips if he got her alone with him. He seemed like the type who’d consider it a challenge to speed-fuck in the time allotted, but settle for rounding second base if she was gonna be a prude about it. 

She’d frozen like a deer in the headlights, but one that had a morbid desire to be run over. That was her…a doe of contradictions. Would her curiosity win out over her innate skittishness? The question had been rendered moot. Jaime had spilled his drink all over Tormund then when the guy had gone to get a towel, he'd latched onto her wrist and dragged her out of there. 

She’d been furious, said just because Cersei and he had temporarily split up and misery loved company didn’t mean he got to sabotage her love life.

“What love life?” he’d joked nastily and she’d blanched and tried to swallow around the lump in her throat before storming off. 

He’d rushed after her, aiming for an apologetic tone, but hitting a condescending note instead as he'd oh-so-considerately pointed out that she was the biggest innocent he'd ever met and Giantsbane would devour her. 

"You and him, that could _never_ be Heaven. He'd sooner hump your leg and spank your ass than hold your hand and whisper sweet nothings into your ear. Forget soft, dreamy kisses...he'd gnaw half your face off. But hey, if all that pushes your buttons, feel free to go back inside. I'm sure Tormund would be only too eager to play hide the sausage with you." 

His crude depiction of what shape the game would've taken if she'd ventured into the closet with Tormund echoed her own thoughts, but that'd only made her angrier. She’d flipped him off and told him to leave her alone. She’d marched down the sidewalk, her head held high, intent on walking home, even though it was pitch black outside and her house was over five miles away. 

She’d heard his car start up then pull around to idle beside her. The passenger window nearest her had opened and he’d tried to coax her to get in the car and when that didn’t work, he’d shouted that it was below freezing, she didn’t have her winter coat, and oh yeah, he was gonna dog her every step of the way and if she was so desperate to get away from him, she’d save herself a fuckton of time if she just got in the damn car and let him drive her home.

When a truck had honked behind them, she’d gotten into his car and pointedly stared out the window, giving him her best cold shoulder routine. He’d huffed and turned on the radio. 

When he’d pulled up at her house, they’d sat in tense silence for a solid minute before he’d asked her if she’d really wanted to be pawed at by that oafish horndog. No, she’d admitted after a grudging pause. She’d drummed her fingers against her knee then stiffly reminded him that she was 16 and still hadn’t kissed anyone and that it was getting embarrassing, okay?

You could’ve knocked her over with a feather when Jaime offered to be her first. Her mouth had gone dry, her palms damp, and butterflies had swarmed her belly. She’d let him take her by the hand and lead her inside. Her father had been out of town that weekend so they’d had the house to themselves.

He’d taught her to kiss that night on the floor of her bedroom. For far longer than seven minutes. First with lips then with tongue. She’d thought it’d be weird since he was her best friend, but it was all too easy as he’d cupped her face and angled it this way and that as she clumsily moved her lips against his, trying to follow his lead. 

He’d been sweet and gentle at first, but when she’d whimpered softly into his kiss, he’d tugged her closer and his kisses had suddenly become demanding, desperate. They’d gotten carried away. Before she even knew what was happening they were horizontal and his palms were roaming her back insistently as his knee insinuated itself between hers. She'd clung to him and felt like her heart might burst. 

Like a shooting star, the thought had flared in her mind that if Heaven did indeed exist, Jaime's mouth would be the pearly gates welcoming her home.

A bolt of heat had shot through her when his hot tongue flicked her earlobe and another bolt set her on fire when her shirt rode up slightly and his hand touched the bare skin of her waist. She'd shivered and Jaime had made a small reassuring sound and rubbed his thumb back and forth over her hip bone. 

Involuntarily her legs had spread a bit wider and he'd fitted himself closer, lowering himself over her and letting her take a little more of his weight. She would never be a petite, delicate girl, but for a moment she'd felt dwarfed by the strength of his body pinning her beneath him. Claimed, protected, and anchored all at once, and the thought that he _had her_ had made her melt. 

When he groaned against her neck mid-kiss, sending ripples of vibration through her, she’d instinctively arched her hips and felt him hard against her belly. She’d sucked in a breath and he’d jerked away from her as if scalded. He hadn’t been able to look her in the eye as he made his excuses and hurried out of there.

He’d been back with Cersei by Monday morning.

Afterward she’d worried she’d taken advantage of his kindness. He liked doing favors for her just as he did for Cersei and Tyrion. She got the impression it made him feel important, needed. 

She honestly hadn’t been angling for him to kiss her, but in hindsight maybe she shouldn’t have whined to him the way she had. It’d been manipulative of her, hadn’t it? What exactly had she expected when she threw that pity party in her driveway and made such a production out of never having been kissed? Of course, he’d thought he owed it to her to step in because he’d cockblocked Tormund. 

He’d felt sorry for his butt-ugly best friend and likely thought it was his duty to teach her how to kiss since he would be nice about it and wouldn’t make fun of her inexperience. 

To make matters worse, he’d been missing Cersei at the time so it was almost as if she’d pounced when he was at his most vulnerable. And now because of her, he probably felt like he’d betrayed the girl he loved. 

She’d been ashamed of herself for putting him in that position and tried to apologize to Jaime, but he’d shut her down quickly with a panicked glint in his eye and they’d both resolved to just pretend like it never happened.

They never did anything like that again, but he was always there. Scaring off the occasional guy who spared her a second glance.

Sometimes she was grateful when he did so, especially when the guy in question leered at her in a way that made her feel grubby inside. Other times she was supremely irked by his high-handedness. 

Every so often she’d wonder if jealousy could possibly be driving his actions. After each rousing internal debate, she'd ultimately conclude that he was just that much of a possessive brat who didn’t want his best friend’s attention to be divided. And she was just that much of a sun-starved weed, unwanted yet hardy, who bloomed under his hot house conditions.

So yes, they were practically inseparable all throughout junior high, high school, and college. After college Jaime had even suggested they move in together, save costs that way. But thankfully, some remnant of her self-preservation kicked in and she said she didn’t think that was a good idea. They ended up compromising. They moved into the same building – White Sword Tower Condominiums. He had the penthouse, of course, and she was on the 3rd floor. 

But they might as well have lived together for all the nights he stayed at hers or she stayed at his. It was only after grad school when she got her first grown up job that she reassessed things. Up until then their living arrangement hadn't seemed that aberrant. They hadn't been the only people in their circle of friends who’d roomed together in their teens and early twenties. 

But then one by one those same friends all grew up and apart from each other. They had real jobs now, too, had real responsibilities and busy schedules that didn't just revolve around trivia nights and tailgate parties. 

Missandei was finishing up medical school. Addam had just gotten engaged. Gilly had been scooped up by the local high school to teach physics and was dating a fellow teacher at the school named Sam. 

Margaery refused to settle down, but had graduated from her party girl persona to the next tier of sophisticated socialite who hosted proper soirées at her high-rise apartment and frequented swanky clubs geared toward 30-something well-to-do types in the city. 

The Starks had been dismayed when Sansa eloped with Sandor, but the arrival of baby Cat helped restore familial harmony. Sansa was now working for her mom and to hear her tell it, Sandor was killing it as a stay-at-home dad to their mischievous toddler. That was no mean feat. Cat was a bright, clever child who could be a real handful. Lucky for her, she had the entire family wrapped around her little finger. Even Arya who'd sworn off ever having kids of her own. 

Sometime after her 25th birthday, it dawned on Brienne that she was a full grown adult who still spent the majority of her time with her best friend and that that unnatural closeness was no longer acceptable behavior. Not that it ever had been, really. 

If people had seen the way they were with each other behind closed doors, their cozy set-up would’ve started tongues wagging. Even Margaery and Sansa didn’t know the half of it. 

They didn’t know that they cuddled on the couch almost every night or that he made her breakfast each Sunday. That on the nights he stayed over at hers, her alarm would go off just after dawn and she'd keep hitting the snooze button because she was not a morning person, and that it'd be Jaime who'd stir and return with a cup of coffee prepared just the way she liked it. Stroke her hair away from her brow, murmur her name until she fully awakened. 

They didn't know that they basically lived as husband and wife, just a decade in after the passion had faded and sex wasn't a part of the equation. 

The colleagues in her department had assumed he was her boyfriend after he kept picking her up for lunch and showing up at happy hour where they all gathered after work once a month. And Jaime never once corrected their assumptions. 

Just last month a couple new hires had given her the third degree, clearly hopeful she’d say it was all a big misunderstanding and that he was footloose and fancy free so they could jump him themselves. She'd been quick to clarify that they were just friends, but added that he was in a long-term relationship, much to their crushing disappointment.

So she’d gradually become aware that things needed to change, but it had taken Sansa putting her two cents in for her to see just how much of a shake-up was called for. 

"Wake up! Jaime's in love with you, dummy. He's been head over heels for _years_ ," Sansa had insisted the last time they got together for drinks. Admittedly she'd been a bit tipsy at the time, but that just meant she was willing to say what she really thought. 

Sansa’s suspicions had thrown her own most secret longing into sharp relief. She’d become complacent with the state of things. She was happy with her job and with Jaime. So happy that she hadn’t wanted to rock the boat. Hadn’t wanted to admit the truth, but now it was staring her right in the face. 

She was in love with Jaime and had been since he’d taken a bullet for her. And it was possible some teeny-tiny part of her that she’d pushed way down deep had been waiting for Jaime to have some wildly unrealistic rom-com epiphany and realize she was the love of his life. That it’d been her all along. 

God, that was pathetic. And not fair to him at all. She hated guys who derisively claimed they’d been ‘friend-zoned’ by their female friends. Guys who then pretended to maintain the friendship, all the while scheming to wear the woman down and change her mind.

That hadn’t been what she’d done to Jaime, had it? 

No, she’d truly been his friend. She hadn’t schemed to win his heart. Hadn't interfered with his relationship with Cersei. Had always tried to be supportive on the rare occasion his girlfriend’s name came up. 

She hadn't made untoward advances, had never been inappropriate or made him uncomfortable, she didn’t think. Jaime himself had been the one who’d initiated all of their physical contact over the years.

Why had he?

Why did he spend all his downtime with her instead of Cersei? She knew Cersei traveled a lot for work, but surely he could join her on some of those business trips, couldn’t he? Why did he sometimes look at her in that arresting way of his that made her heart race and her cheeks burn? Why did his voice sometimes go low and gravelly when he said her name? 

Was it all in her imagination? Was she mistaking fondness for something more or could Sansa be right? Could her feelings be reciprocated?

She had to find out. Things couldn’t go on like this. Something had to give.

She didn’t regret their years of friendship. She could never. Every single minute of it had been worth it. She couldn’t have asked for a better friend. He was someone who understood her and accepted her and who challenged her to be better, stronger, braver. In all ways except one.

But she had to consider her future. If her most meaningful relationship was with her best friend who she spent almost every waking moment with, who she was apparently secretly in love with, how could she make space in her life, let alone her heart, for another? 

It was simple, she couldn’t. 

And as much as she’d tried to deny it, she wanted romance. She wanted everything she had with Jaime and more. To not just share a laugh over a meal or exchange confidences in the dead of night, but to also be kissed, to be touched with more than just affection. To be wanted and loved as a woman. To be desired.

She’d grown up enough from her insecure teen years to know it was possible. While her unconventional appearance might limit her prospects, there were still men out there who were drawn to her towering height and long legs and surely, one of them would be a good guy with a good heart that she could be happy with. Maybe not as happy as she’d be with Jaime, but it was what it was.

But first she had to be honest with Jaime about the nature of her feelings for him and be brave enough to hear his truth, even if it broke her heart.


	2. Chapter 2

It went about as poorly as she might’ve expected.

By turns abrasive and intensely shy, her personality had never lent itself to seamless social interaction. All her life she’d alternated between being too blunt and going tongue-tied when put on the spot. At best, she simply disrupted the flow of conversation and made things awkward. At worst, she caused offense.

With Jaime, things had been different, better. He talked enough for the both of them and didn’t mince words. That lack of filter had put her at ease. He'd never made her feel self-conscious or uncomfortable. Not until today. 

Attempting to express her feelings was like pulling teeth. Her halting confession was filled with lots of stops and starts, fragmented phrases, and she kept trying to preface everything which sent her off on tangent after tangent. And somehow no matter what she said, she wasn’t getting any closer to the point. 

She was tired of talking _around_ it, but couldn’t seem to break free of her rut. It felt like she was stuck at the track going in never-ending circles. And maybe there was a part of her that was stalling for time, still trying to muster up her nerve. 

Finally, Jaime grabbed her by the shoulders and told her to stop being weird and spit it out.

“I’m in love with you,” she blurted out, looking even more shocked by her statement than he did.

There was a long unbearable silence where time seemed to stand still. Jaime just gaped at her, his hands flexing against her upper arms before falling away.

“Brienne, you’re my best friend,” he said slowly, and his tone was so uncharacteristically earnest and beseeching, she steeled herself for the blow that would follow. “But you have to know it’s Cersei. It’s always been Cersei for me. If I hadn’t met her first, maybe things would be different…”

She clasped her hands together and nodded vigorously, willing herself not to cry. She knew he was trying to be kind, to let her down gently, but that only made it worse. She felt like such a fool. She hadn’t realized just how hopeful she’d been until he snuffed out that flicker of possibility so matter-of-factly like his rejection was a foregone conclusion.

Which, of course, it was. _Of course_ , her feelings were unrequited. _Of course_ , it was always going to end like this.

But it didn’t have to be an ending; it could be a beginning for her.

She was at a fork in the road. There were two paths before her and only one was a dead-end.

It’d be so easy to just let it slide. Keep everything as is. To settle for this existence when it was so close to everything she wanted. She knew Jaime would be only too happy to brush this entire conversation under the rug and go on as they had before. Just as they had after that best forgotten make-out session.

It’d be far scarier to go out into the world and try to reach for more. To risk rejection from someone who might actually be able to love her. 

Much safer to hide in this bubble forever. But that was the thing about bubbles…inevitably they popped. Someday, probably in the next year or two, Jaime would move out and marry Cersei and then where would she be? Alone and unloved. 

She deserved a chance at something real, something that could lead to a future of her own.

“I understand. But I can’t live like this anymore. We’re too close. This,” she paused, gesturing between them, “isn’t a friendship. And it’s not like family either. It’s something else. Something more. Something too much. It’s not healthy for either of us. I think we should take some time apart…”

“What? No!” He leapt to his feet and took a step closer. “I can’t – I need you in my life.”

“I’ll still be in your life. We’ll see each other, just not every day. And not like this.”

“Like what?”

Brienne rose to stand and struggled to find words for the charged atmosphere that electrified their every interaction. “Intense and weighty as if matters of life and death hang in the balance when we talk.” 

“Next thing I know you’ll be putting a kibosh on all soulful stares.” When he began rubbing the shoulder that'd once taken a bullet for her, she bristled. His go-to move wouldn't work on her this time. 

“Knock it off. This isn’t a joke, Jaime.”

“Isn’t it? You up and deciding out of the fucking blue you want to cut all ties with me sounds like the most humorless punchline of all time!”

“Stop being so dramatic. As I said before, I’m not planning to _cut all ties_ with you. I’m just asking for some space.” 

Rubbing his shoulder again, he flashed her his best puppy dog eyes and she lost it.

“Oh, grow up, will you!” she snapped. “Everyone else has.”

“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Everyone else? Sansa settled down in the ‘burbs with her hubby, was visited by the stork, and now you have visions of white picket fences and rugrats dancing in your head! Tell me, Birdie, is your biological clock ticking?”

“Fuck off.”

“No, this is the first I’m hearing of you longing for domestic bliss. Is that really the life you want or did Sansa slip you some Kool-Aid the last time you saw her? Do we need to get your stomach pumped?”

“Jaime, I’m being serious. Living in each other’s pockets was fine when we were kids, but we’re adults now. I want to date. I want a partner.”

“Who’s stopping you? If you want to date…date. I’m certainly not standing in your way. You’re acting like I’ve been keeping you chained to the radiator. But the choice has always been yours. Don’t blame me for holding you back. If you want a life, get a life!”

Brienne flinched at his stark cruelty. He looked repentant, his jaw working, but she noted that he didn’t feel bad enough that he tried to take it back. She squared her shoulders. 

“Shall I invite my date in to cuddle with us on the couch while we watch a movie? Shall I ask him if he likes his eggs sunny-side up for Sunday breakfast? You claim you’re not standing in my way, but your very presence complicates things. Surely, you must see that. And that’s to say nothing of how you’ve chased off every guy who’s shown even a passing interest in me. The truth is you like keeping me all to yourself. I shouldn’t be surprised. Lannisters need never learn to share their toys, am I right?” The bitterness in her voice startled even her.

Jaime latched onto her upper arm, pulling her in so they were nose to nose. “So what, I’m some fiendish saboteur? Worse than that, if I read you correctly. You've decided I’m some false friend who’s been stringing you along all this time. Do you really think me so callous?”

Brienne ripped her arm out of his grasp. “No, not callous. Selfish. You want to have your cake and eat it, too.”

“I’m confused. First you were a toy I’m too much of an entitled prick to share and now you’re cake. So which is it?” Jaime asked nastily. He took a step back and eyed her critically from head to toe. It reminded her all too vividly of the day they first met.

“You’d be some kind of gluten free sponge loaded with nutritious crap like berries and nuts and seeds. But you’d be moist and fluffy and deceptively delicious, tricking everyone into eating healthier. And if you were in my toy chest, you’d be one of those educational toys that’re designed to smartify me and help build character. No, wait, you’d be a book I couldn’t read because the letters kept jumping around, but that I kept under my pillow at night because it was somehow more comforting than any of my stuffed animals. 

“Although, I must confess that right this very moment I see you more as a pain in the ass limb of mine that’s gone rogue and is trying to secede from me which...based on your 'fuck off' scowl, you find even more offensive. And that’s such bullshit. I don’t know where you get off being the one offended in this scenario. You’re not just talking about stealing a slice of my cake or my favorite toy, you’re threatening me with fucking amputation!”

“First off, comparing me to a severed limb? Nice. Congratulations, your narcissism has reached new heights! Secondly, when will you get it through your thick skull that I’m not ending this friendship? I’m simply saying that we can’t continue as we’ve been. I need space if I’m going to move on.” 

She could tell by the set of his jaw that he’d swept past defensive and was about to round belligerent. “ _Space_ to _move on_. Gotcha. So already got your eye on someone at work then?”

“We’re not doing this, Jaime.”

His smile widened. “Doing what? I’m just trying to be a proper friend to you. Supportive and shit. Spill, girlfriend! I want all the deets! I mean, it seems a little soon. You just declared your love for me, like, five minutes ago. Is your heart really so fickle?”

Brienne whirled away and stomped over to the door. “Get out.”

He raced over after her before she’d even thrown the door open and plastered his chest to her back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it," he said quickly, winding his arms around her waist. "I’m just being an asshole because I don’t want to lose you.” 

“Well, that’s not counterintuitive at all!” Brienne exhaled slowly and tried to compose herself. “You won’t lose me. We’ll figure it out. Set some boundaries. But first you have to let me go.” 

“Not yet,” he whispered. He rubbed his nose against the nape of her neck and hugged her even more fiercely. “Can I stay? Just the night? _Please_. Just one more night.”

Emotion choked his voice and she felt his breath hitch before a telltale mist of tears saturated her neck. 

Against her better judgment, she closed the door and led him back to the couch.


	3. Chapter 3

Days then weeks passed with only sporadic contact from Brienne. She’d limited their encounters to once a week. She was regimented and diligent even when it came to the rules of their estrangement.

Jaime's life began to revolve around Thursdays when they’d meet for an all-too-brief lunch at a diner that was halfway between his work and hers. A run-of-the-mill chain restaurant they'd visited once or twice before. A place that didn't evoke memories of their friendship. Neutral territory.

It was all so public, so aggressively brightly lit with conversation bubbling all around them so there wasn’t even the illusion of privacy. Exactly as Brienne intended. All intimacy was gone and it was like there was a barrier between them at all times. He felt the distance between them all too keenly. 

She reluctantly let him hug her hello and goodbye, but that was it. There was no cuddling or hand-holding anymore. 

No more hanging out at her place each evening talking about their days as they dined, he with takeout, usually Pentoshi, and she with some bland, ultra-nutritious dish you couldn't pay Jaime to eat. He'd tried one of her buddha bowls once and his taste buds had fallen asleep.

No more non-stop texting, no more swinging by Brienne’s work when he was bored and had an opening in his schedule. No more camping or hiking. No more shooting hoops or competitive jogging or trips to the gym.

No more lazy Sunday breakfasts at home. And he'd fought hard for that cheat day. It'd taken _years_ to persuade Brienne to allow one day a week where she'd permit herself to partake of fare not fit for a rabbit. 

They feasted on pancakes slathered in butter, drenched with maple syrup. Scrambled eggs with crispy bacon and fat sausage links. And then they lounged on the couch afterward in their pajamas and watched the sports channel or streamed some true crime docudrama. He looked forward to it all week.

He tried to fill the void with Cersei, but she was still out of town more often than not and when she was there, he found himself distracted. She picked up on his bad mood. Called him a sulky boy, but never pressed him about what was wrong. 

That wasn’t her style. It wasn’t _their_ style. Communication had never really been their forte. That was more his and Brienne’s thing.

Cersei had always thought Brienne was secretly pining away for him and would laugh if he told her the truth. She’d tolerated their friendship, largely because she didn’t view Brienne as a threat the way she did all other women. Due to her size and androgynous looks, his Birdie had been able to fly under his girlfriend's radar. 

Jaime had known it and used it to his advantage, talking up the times they spent watching sports or doing other guy stuff and framing their friendship as some kind of bromance. They were just a pair of dudes who traded manly backslaps and spotted each other at the gym, nothing to see here. 

Cersei didn't know that technically, the backslaps were back rubs, and that while they did spot each other at the gym, the best part was going for smoothies afterward and dissecting the latest episode of their favorite podcast, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. She didn't know they spooned on the regular, that he fell asleep at least a quarter of the time with his head in Brienne's lap and her fingers in his hair, that he made her pancakes every Sunday morning. 

And now, all of that was gone. Over. Nothing but a memory. Brienne had shut the door on them in that calm, decisive way that let him know it was final.

The past month had been in a word - hell. 

He’d taken to riding in the elevator of their building like some kind of nutjob insomniac when he couldn’t sleep at night. Would even sometimes get off on the 3rd floor to hover outside her door. 

He'd feel compelled to knock. To just throw himself on her mercy and beg her to take him back. But then he’d remember her face…so solemn and resolved. And he’d remind himself that space was what she said she needed right now. 

He’d be the selfish asshole she accused him of being if he barged into her place and demanded she comfort him when she was the one hurting and in need of distance to recover. 

He felt crippling shame at the thought that his very presence was what was wounding her. 

So he’d just stand there, staring at her door like a creep, wishing he were inside with her fast asleep in bed. Last night he’d sagged against the door and slid down to take a seat on the floor. Set his phone alarm to wake him at 4 am, long before she’d rise, then drifted off to sleep huddled against her door like some lovesick jilted lover.

The next morning he was barely holding it together when his brother stopped by for a visit with Bronn in tow. Jaime eyed them blearily, but when Tyrion glanced at the empty bottles of whiskey littering the floor and asked what the fuck had happened, he felt a surge of relief. Finally someone who would understand and know how to fix everything.

Jaime laid it all out for them, expecting sympathy and indignation on his behalf. He was in for a rude awakening.

“Good for her,” Tyrion said.

“It’s about time,” Bronn added. “You were using her, dude. Everyone knew it. She’s the ugly girl you go to to feel good about yourself. Girl’s doing all the heavy lifting and reaping none of the benefits. I get that Cersei’s fuckable and Brienne’s not, but it’s cold, man.”

Jaime’s jaw hit the floor and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

Tyrion shot him a conciliatory grimace. “Look, I think what’s really fucking you up is that Brienne calling you on your shit is making you face up to the truth about Cersei. Without Brienne, your entire house of cards collapses. You always liked to act all holier-than-thou, dressing your love up in fanciful talk of destiny and star-crossed soulmates as if your romance was the stuff of legends, and now you’re having to accept the grand sweeping love story between you and Cersei is nothing more than that: a story. It’s not some mystical, fated romance for the ages shit you have going on with Cersei because if it were, you wouldn’t have needed Brienne to be there every step of the way to smooth things over. Brienne was your enabler, fulfilling all your emotional needs so you could fool yourself into thinking it was Cersei alone who was making you so disgustingly happy. Be real, you spent 95% of your time with Brienne and the remaining 5% fucking Cersei.”

“You’ve been banging a girl for years you don’t even like and calling it love,“ Bronn agreed with a snicker, taking a swig of his beer. "It’s your cock that’s been calling the shots all this time, not your fucking heart or soul. Your dick’s a sucker for a pretty face and a big rack like every other red-blooded guy on the planet.”

That wasn’t fair. He liked Cersei just fine. He liked her wit and her fire. They didn’t always see eye to eye on everything, but it’d be boring if they never disagreed. Just like Brienne and he bickered and bantered and it was all in good fun. Jaime opened his mouth to say as much, but Tyrion didn’t give him time to rebut. 

“You always loved to call Cersei your other half, but Brienne was the one you went to every single time shit got real. She’s the one you can’t quite quit. You’ve broken up with Cersei so many times I’ve lost count, but you’ve never been able to cut contact with Brienne. Not even for the span of a single day.” 

Without permission, a flurry of memories flitted through his brain. 

When he’d fought with Brienne senior year, he’d said some shit about Renly and she’d cried and he’d pitched a fit. When his tantrum didn’t elicit sympathy, he’d set up camp on her front lawn until she'd forgiven him. 

When she refused to move in with him after college, he’d vowed to give her the silent treatment, a taste of what her life would be like without him in it. He’d barely lasted eight hours before he’d cracked and insisted they compromise and move into different units in the same building. 

When Brienne had gone on vacation with her dad last summer, he’d missed her so much he’d kept hounding her with calls and texts until she finally took pity on him and invited him to join them in Dorne for the last leg of their trip. 

He thought of the way he’d fallen asleep outside her door just last night. Christ, he was pathetic.

Tyrion peered at him over the rim of his glass, his mismatched eyes gleaming knowingly. "Ask yourself this: if Cersei had dumped your ass for good, would you be half as devastated as you are now? Or would you have wept in Brienne's arms for a week then moved on because really, you didn't lose much? Just hot sex on tap which you can find at any bar. 

“A best friend isn’t as easily replaced. When you failed your driver’s test for the second time, who was it that prepped you for the written so that the third time would be the charm? When you had your tonsils yanked out, who was it that kept you in pints of ice cream? When you were sick with the flu in college, who let you sack out on her futon and nursed you back to health even though you’re officially the Worst Patient Ever? When you had that knock-down, drag-out fight with Dad freshman year, who was it you went to to drown your sorrows and bitch about our dysfunctional as hell family? Brienne. Not Cersei.”

Jaime searched his memory to find something that would refute Tyrion’s claims. He brightened when he landed on a shred of proof in his girlfriend’s favor. “Cersei was there for me at Mom’s funeral. She held my hand the entire time.” 

Tyrion’s mouth quirked grimly the way it always did when their mother was brought up. “Hm, she got all gussied up for the occasion if I remember correctly. Had a blowout, slapped on some war paint, the whole works, made sure to hit her mark for the paps on her way into the church and out. And you were so stoic all throughout the funeral service with her on your arm. Father was proud you didn’t embarrass him with any unseemly display of grief. But at the reception afterwards you’ll never guess what I stumbled upon…you upstairs racked with convulsive sobs, weeping uncontrollably in Brienne’s arms. Naturally, you composed yourself before you came back down and rejoined Cersei.”

Jaime had forgotten all about that. The days after their mother’s death had been a blur. There’d been disbelief, a haze of anger that she’d been taken from them too soon, and gut-wrenching sorrow. He remembered now how Cersei had had to take a red-eye the night after the funeral for business and how he’d seen her off to the airport then driven to the Tarth residence where Brienne was staying for the summer and crawled into her bed. Fuck.

His throat worked. “That’s just…Brienne understood. She lost her mom when she was a kid.”

“Yes. I believe Brienne understood every aspect of you all too well. She understood when you were being a dick, when you were scared or sad or weak, when you needed a kick in the pants, when you simply needed her to lend a listening ear. She understood you far too well for far too long, if I’m honest.”

Tyrion’s patronizing tone was like nails on a chalkboard. Jaime felt his molars grinding. 

“You’re acting like our friendship is some one-way street, like I used her. But I was there for her, too!” he snapped. “I was there when she got chicken pox. Brought her my mittens with the cartoon knights on them, distracted her so she’d forget she was itchy, spread calamine lotion on her blisters for fuck’s sake. 

“Every soccer game, I cheered her on with a big T painted on my chest." He turned to Bronn whose apathy bordered on disdain as he busied himself with blowing smoke rings. "You can vouch for that…I blackmailed you into being the ‘H’ that time Addam was sick so Brienne wouldn’t look up into the stands and see our motley crew spelling out ‘Tart.’ I risked hypothermia for her the year we had that freak snowstorm.

“I was there for her when those jerks made that bet. Destroyed every last one of them and didn't say boo to her about it because it’d have crushed her to know the truth. 

“When her appendix burst, I was the one who rushed her to the hospital. Who sweet-talked half the nurses into giving me a cot to stay in her hospital room with her the first night and threatened the other half when that didn’t work the next. 

“I've gone with her to the graveyard on the anniversary of her mom’s death every year since I’ve known her. Brienne brings stargazer lilies. I bring a tasteful wreath of blue roses. After she has her private chat, I get to join her and tell her mom all about the amazing things her daughter did in the last year, the things she’d be too humble to boast about. 

“I fucking took a bullet for her when I was 14 years old so don’t fucking act like our entire relationship amounts to her being my PA or cheerleader or whatever the fuck. I was just as loyal to her, just as invested in our friendship!”

“But that’s just it. You saw it as a friendship, she clearly saw it as more," Tyrion said mildly as if explaining something to a slow-witted toddler. "And you only have yourself to blame. You’re codependent as fuck with her. You were so emotionally slutty with her, more intimate with her than most doting husbands are with their wives, it’s no wonder the poor girl got confused. But take Brienne away and you see what should’ve been blindingly obvious years ago…Admit it, you’re a shallow, horny idiot down in the gutter with the rest of us.”

“Join the club. It’s not so bad, you’ll see,” Bronn joked as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

Not only were they twisting his friendship with Brienne into something sinister and self-serving on his part, they were making what he had with Cersei sound _tawdry_. Which was bullshit. He’d loved Cersei with all his heart ever since they met as kids. He still did. No, they weren’t friends who discussed the minutia of their lives, but romance wasn’t meant to be about friendship, was it? 

And so what if Tyrion was right and he’d spent 95% of his time with Brienne and 5% with Cersei? It worked for them. Well, it had. Up until now. 

Tyrion calling what he had with Cersei a house of cards was out of line…not to mention preposterous. If anything, the fact that they successfully navigated the long distance thing most of the time proved their foundation was solid. 

Cersei had an independent streak a mile wide, just as he did. They didn’t need to wake up each morning and share breakfast together for their love to be real. That they could go days, weeks even, without seeing each other was a credit to the strength of their relationship. Their bond could withstand anything. What they had transcended the day to day…their love was timeless, fated, written in the stars.

And okay, yes, he could see now how Tyrion might have gotten fed up with him framing their romance in such a way…it was a bit purple-prosey. And abstract. One might almost say…

“So you’re saying Cersei was an illusion and Brienne was the reality all along?” he said slowly, testing out the shape of the theory on his tongue.

Tyrion snorted. "Yeah, but not in the way you mean. Wipe that hopeful glint out of your eye. I'm not suggesting you should throw a bag over Brienne’s head so you can fuck her because she's secretly the true love of your life or some shit like that. That'd be cruel to her.”

Jaime jumped to his feet and towered over his brother. “Shut your goddamn mouth, Tyrion. You don’t know the first thing about her or about me!” 

Tyrion squinted up at him and this time when he spoke his tone took a turn for the scathing. “Oh, but I do, big brother. I’m the only one in your life other than Brienne who would. Look, life isn't like the movies. Beauty isn't in the eye of the beholder and all that rot. I know whereof I speak, having weathered a deluge of disgust, revulsion, and pity in my day. Trust me, I'm uniquely equipped to empathize with the plight of your Birdie. From one freak to another, I wish her every happiness, but she's not going to get her fairy tale ending with someone like you. You love Brienne, but you're not _in love_ with her. Only a real asshole would pretend to be and then break her heart all over again when you can't get it up without dousing the lights and imagining a more fuckable girl in her place. She deserves better than that."

“Wow. Throw a bag over her head? Fucking douse the lights? I guess it’s good to know where I stand with you. I thought…” He huffed a bitter laugh. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I don’t care that this is some self-loathing shit on your part rearing its ugly head right now…You don’t _ever_ get to talk about Brienne that way. You don’t _ever_ get to put such hateful words in my mouth.”

Tyrion gulped. Jaime absently noted that it was the first time his little brother had ever looked genuinely frightened of him. It was the first time Jaime had ever given him reason to, but he was too angry to back down.

Bronn broke the tension with a loud bark of laughter, the sound so harsh it grated against Jaime’s already frayed nerves. “I think that’s our cue to leave.” He took one last swig of his beer and then pulled Tyrion up by the scruff of his neck and dragged him toward the door.

Jaime stood there shaking with rage long after the door slammed shut.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the amazing comments so far! I was a little worried this fic would have no audience so I'm glad to see I was wrong. I've been so focused on polishing up the final chapters that I haven't had time to respond to comments yet, but I plan to make time after posting this chapter. <3

Tyrion’s central thesis was flawed. So much of what he’d said was off the mark, really, but it was the pity directed Brienne’s way that infuriated him the most. He had never used Brienne. Not once. Never taken her for granted, never considered her a placeholder, never led her on.

He loved her every bit as much as she loved him. Maybe more.

There was no ‘poor Brienne’ in their relationship. If anything, it was poor Jaime who’d been unceremoniously ousted from her life.

And the way both Tyrion and Bronn kept harping on about her looks as if it all boiled down to that. Playing house with the plain girl vs getting his rocks off with the hot one.

That line of thinking was puddle-deep and offensive as fuck and hinged on one giant, glaring misconception: that he found Brienne Tarth unfuckable. 

Would that that were the case.

Jaime had had _those_ kind of dreams about Brienne for years. Since a bullet had torn through his shoulder, in fact.

The night after being released from the hospital he’d tossed and turned in bed, lamenting the loss of the future he'd planned for himself. He'd never become a major league pitcher now. He'd wanted to blame Brienne for killing his dream, wanted to hate her, but he hadn't been able to. 

If he'd had the chance to do it all over again, there was no doubt he'd have done the same. (Plus there was the small matter of how Brienne wouldn't have even been in the line of fire in the first place if he hadn't opened his big mouth and escalated the situation, but there was no need to dwell on that.)

He kept remembering the abject horror that’d crossed her face when he took the bullet meant for her, the way she’d caught him in her strong arms and gently lowered him to the floor, ripped off her hoodie so she could use it to apply pressure to his wound. Her mouth had been parted slightly in shock and her blue, blue eyes had been so soft with concern…concern for him. 

As he lay in bed, restless and all keyed up, the memory had morphed into fantasy. He’d imagined her thanking him for saving her, running her palm over his cheek, stroking her fingers through his hair. Brienne whispering that he had a fine dusting of powder at the corner of his mouth from the donut hole and offering to take care of that for him before pressing her plump lips to his, the taste of sugar not nearly as sweet as their kiss. 

He’d woken with a choked shout to messy sheets. At the time he’d just laughed it off. He was a teenage boy. He could get turned on by a mailbox. It didn’t mean anything. Other than that he was still hopped up on adrenaline and had needed an outlet. Besides, surviving a life-threatening situation was bound to jumble things up between your head, heart, and cock. 

The next time he'd seen Brienne at school he'd been tempted to call her 'Sugar Lips,' but his cock had perked up at the reminder of his erotic fever dream so he'd manfully quashed the impulse. 

After his ill-advised decision to teach Brienne to kiss (but really, how could he have done anything else? He’d have rather died than let someone else be her first kiss), he’d dreamed of the two of them on the floor of her bedroom and how things might’ve progressed if he hadn’t bolted. 

Her skin had been hot to the touch, her blush extending down her neck. Her eyes had been glassy and a little awed. She’d sounded needy and she’d squirmed against him in this way that was irresistible.

What if he’d pulled her closer, spread her thighs wider and just rubbed against her until they both shook apart? What if he’d slipped his hand up her shirt and been the first to cup her breast over her bra, under her bra, the first to look upon her bare from the waist up, to mouth her nipple, kiss it, lick it, scrape his teeth over the bud as she arched for him? 

What if he’d ground himself against her and come in his pants and she was still on edge? Still whimpering and squirming and desperate for him? What if he’d had to hush her, had to unzip her jeans, slide his hand into her cotton underwear to take care of her? What if she’d squeaked his name as her tight cunt squeezed his finger, fluttering wildly as she finally let go? 

He’d woken with his hand flying over his cock and come so hard the violent spasms had left him as sore as if he’d just finished a marathon session with Cersei in the back of her Range Rover. 

The thought of Cersei had been like a bucket of cold water. Guilt had gripped him by the throat and he’d called her as he lay there covered in his own spunk. They’d been broken up for three weeks by that point so she wasn't shocked when he’d begged her to take him back. 

She’d seemed amused by his lack of shame. If only she’d known it’d been just the opposite driving his desperation. If only she’d known he’d go on to spend weeks, months if he were honest, revisiting the same fantasy. Infinite variations on the same theme that always led to the same sticky ending. 

She’d have murdered him in his sleep.

Swim meets had been his doom in high school. The bane of his existence. But he’d persevered. Gone to all of Brienne’s meets to root her on and learned to bring a jacket along to wad up and hold in front of him after. 

That was normal, too, though, wasn’t it? Teenage guys seeing teenage girls in one piece swimsuits were bound to pop a boner every now and then. That none of the other girls did anything for him but Brienne was irrelevant. 

He’d long accepted that his cock was secretly sappy and dyslexic in its own way, confusing best friend love with wanna fuck your brains out lust. No biggie. It was easy to disregard.

Besides, he dared any other guy to watch Brienne cut through the water so effortlessly, her broad shoulders bunching and unbunching, the mesmerizing rhythm of her long legs kicking into each graceful glide and not want to jump her bones. 

To not envision how cool and slippery her skin would feel against his if he dove into the pool and joined her, took her into his arms under the diving board and urged those silken legs of hers to wrap around his hips. 

To not fantasize about teaching her a different kind of breaststroke or hoisting her up onto the pool deck and wedging his face between those powerful thighs. Her every movement was always so controlled during competition. He longed to make her kick and flail and thrash about with abandon as he went down on her.

The dreams only increased in frequency and intensity in college. They were practically living together even though it was all very hush-hush since their dorms were not meant to be co-ed.

He rationalized that it was only natural seeing her in her threadbare pajamas all soft and sleep-mussed in the mornings did things to him. Just like going with her to the gym and seeing her bench press 250lbs like it was nothing did things to him. 

Seeing her first thing in the morning inspired hazy, indulgent dreams where he carried her back to bed for a sweet, languid fuck. Seeing her after working out all sweaty and red-cheeked inspired frantic visions where she shoved him up against the wall and focused all that strength and stamina on him, dismantling him piece by piece. 

He’d gotten used to it. The secret sexual dimension to their dynamic that was one-sided and best ignored. It was just one of those things that was inconvenient, but an inescapable fact of life you learned to keep to yourself. Like his father’s narcissism. And his brother’s incipient alcoholism. 

Anyhow, he still fantasized about Cersei so what did it matter in the grand scheme of things that his id continued to be a dyslexic hornball? 

Up until now he'd been able to keep it confined to the realm of slumber for the most part. But that'd changed in the past month. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop daydreaming about Brienne constantly.

At work, at home, when he was with Cersei for fuck’s sake. 

And they were feverish flashes of want and need that no longer fit in that tidy box in his head where he’d stuffed them over the years. They overflowed and cluttered up his thoughts and wouldn’t stay put when he attempted his tried and true method of repression and denial. 

It was like his brain had gone into overdrive trying to compensate for the severe lack of Brienne in his day to day life. 

"A dearth of Brienne?" it screamed, "Not on my watch!"

His mind was subsequently besieged by a barrage of brave Brienne, coquettish Brienne, athletic Brienne, bold Brienne, shy Brienne, noble Brienne, take charge Brienne, but always, always, always, _naked_ Brienne.

He was missing her. Of course, he was. But why was it manifesting in such an obscene way? It was bad enough acknowledging that she wasn’t just a limb of his, but his goddamn heart. Now there was the niggling possibility that maybe, just maybe, she owned his goddamn cock, too. Or had put it on layaway, at the very least. 

As he accidentally trod on one of the cigarette butts Bronn had thoughtfully left strewn about his rug, he wondered if this was what withdrawal felt like. He’d been forced to go cold turkey six days out of seven. If smokers trying to kick the habit only got a nicotine patch once a week, would they, too, start to fantasize about cigarettes ditching their filters and doing filthy yet tender and loving things to them? 

Brienne would vehemently disapprove of him comparing her to a smoking addiction. Which was a crying shame because he had an off-color joke at the ready all teed up about her being as deadly as a carcinogen. 

“Cancer isn’t a joke!” he could practically hear her chide him with a menacing waggle of her finger. 

And…well, see? This is what he’d been reduced to. Imaginary conversations with his best friend who kept strolling through his mind without a stitch of clothing on.

It was Sunday. The day he would’ve cooked breakfast for her. 

A whim struck him - What if he just turned up at her door with a full spread? Pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, maybe throw some hash browns in there to sweeten the pot? 

He'd faithfully abided by the terms of her contract the past month and been on his best behavior so perhaps that'd earn him a second meal with her. And then who knew, in time maybe two meals a week could become three...

The only problem was his kitchen cupboards were bare. Depressed fucker that he was, he’d been subsisting on takeout the past month. He checked his watch. It was still early, though. He could pop on down to the IHOP on the corner and order enough greasy breakfast combinations to feed a small army and try to bribe Brienne into taking him back. 

This was the first real flicker of hope he’d experienced in weeks. There was a spring in his step as he put in the order and merrily collected his carryout. 

He was almost at the entrance to their building when Brienne exited. 

She wasn’t alone. There was a man beside her. A totally average, so-fucking-forgettable-you'd-never-be-able-to-pick-him-out-of-a-lineup douche who wasn’t one of their neighbors. (There were only 20 units in White Sword Tower and Brienne had guilted him into attending the monthly condo board meetings so he was unfortunately on a first name basis with every last pompous blowhard in the building.) 

What was this rando doing at her place at this hour of the day? Had she spent the night with him? He noted she was dressed up a bit which set off alarm bells. 

It was the day before her workweek began. She usually kicked back and relaxed on Sundays, preferring sweatpants and fuzzy slippers if she was staying in, hoodies, jeans, and sneakers if she were going out. But here she was with styled hair and glossy lips, wearing her double-breasted peacoat and kitten heels like she was doing her little turn on the catwalk.

Then she had the audacity to put her hand in the crook of his arm. What the fuck.

Jaime ducked into the alley before they could see him.

As they breezed by he finally recognized the douchebag extraordinaire. Kyle. A coworker of hers. The smug fucker had tried to hit on Brienne at the last company Christmas party before Jaime swooped in and rescued her. Although maybe in hindsight this was one of the guys she accused him of cockblocking. Maybe she’d wished he’d let him maul her under the mistletoe, after all. 

His chest hurt as he ventured out of his hiding spot and watched Brienne disappear around the corner arm in arm with fucking Kyle. 

In his pique, Jaime almost dumped his bags right there in the alley, but then his conscience kicked in. His pesky conscience that just so happened to sound an awful lot like a certain fickle former best friend of his, go figure. The bossy little voice insisted he’d be an absolute prick to waste perfectly good food. So instead he angrily marched four blocks south to the shelter Brienne liked to volunteer at and curtly dropped off what should have been the feast for their reunion.

Then he angrily marched to the gym and beat the shit out of the heavy punching bag until he was limp with exhaustion and his brain was swamped with visions of Brienne and Kyle screwing in any number of positions. His imagination ran wild. He bitterly regretted that he'd ever tagged along with her to yoga class and witnessed firsthand the unparalleled splendor of Brienne putting her mile-long legs behind her head. Her insane goddamn flexibility preyed on his mind, wreaking havoc.

Afterward he showered and fumed some more then angrily marched to Cersei’s who he'd spontaneously made plans with since his day was apparently wide fucking open. He was 20 minutes early, but he was tired of stewing about Kyle and was in desperate need of a distraction. Cersei was always good for that.

The last thing Jaime expected was to run into Kettleblack doing up his fly as he exited her converted loft. The guy stumbled to a halt, his shirt rumpled, his tie askew, his mouth stained red with smears of lipstick. Osmund was a low level flunky at Cersei’s firm who she’d always mentioned with casual derision so it wasn’t surprising when he just gaped stupidly at Jaime, unable to cobble together a believable lie on the spot.

Not that anything the strapping intern could have come up with would have fooled him into thinking anything other than that his girlfriend had squeezed another guy in before her date with Jaime.

Jaime almost laughed. What was it with the women in his life hooking up with coworkers? Well, this would teach him to pop in on someone unexpectedly or 20 minutes early. He thought they’d all learned an invaluable lesson that day.

He could tell Kettleblack was waiting for him to go ballistic, but instead Jaime stepped aside to let the guy pass without comment. 

A strange calm came over him.

When he knocked, Cersei opened the door with a harried expression on her face, clearly thinking Osmund had left something behind. Jaime swept past her into the apartment before she could speak.

He knew that unlike Kettleblack, Cersei was perfectly capable of weaving any number of plausible cover stories for what he’d just witnessed. He didn’t give her the chance.

“We need to talk,” he said.


	5. Chapter 5

Brienne took a long shower when she returned home. After her disastrous coffee with Hyle, she’d decided she should tackle the various chores she’d been putting off so the rest of her day would at least be productive. The list of errands had taken her all over the city and she was exhausted by the time she relaxed under the hot spray.

Disastrous wasn’t quite fair to Hyle. Disappointing was more accurate. 

He’d asked her out for dinner last week and she’d automatically demurred, spouting some nonsense about not dating coworkers, but he’d persisted. Suggested they go for coffee over the weekend instead. Just a casual morning thing, no pressure. 

Sansa had sung the praises of the coffee non-date when she was on a bunch of dating apps prior to meeting Sandor. So Brienne had heard all about the perks of testing the waters in such a way. You got to meet the person and talk and get a feel for them in a low-key public place for a brief window of time without having to contend with outright rejection. Since it wasn’t a date-date. Just a potential precursor to it.

Brienne had given in. A coffee with a coworker who she felt extraordinarily mildly about seemed like it might be a good way to ease into the dating scene.

She’d even made an effort. Worn her nicer slacks and brand new silk blouse, scared up some lipstick and mascara for the occasion. She hadn’t realized he’d show up at her place to escort her to the café on the corner. 

She’d found his presumptuousness off-putting, but she’d sworn she wouldn’t be as critical and judgmental of would-be suitors as she'd been in the past. That she’d loosen up and lower her standards a bit. (And stop comparing every last man she met to Jaime.)

She was far from perfect herself. Her interior was just as flawed as her exterior. She was often too brusque, prickly, and guarded. Way too rigid in her beliefs. Humorless. Tongue-tied. So who was she to demand others possess social skills she herself lacked?

Maybe Hyle being a little forward would work in their favor since she was always quick to retreat from things that might be worthwhile. Maybe especially _when_ they might be worthwhile.

So she’d plastered a smile to her face as she greeted him. She could tell he thought she might invite him in first, but she stepped out into the hall and firmly shut the door behind her. That was her home and she wasn't inclined to welcome any man inside she didn’t fully trust.

She’d worried they might run into Jaime on the elevator down. It would’ve been awkward as hell. Jaime would’ve been a dick about it, sneered and said, “What’s this? Do my eyes deceive me or is my old pal Brienne Tarth going on a _date_? Are you off to sit in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g?” 

Brienne would’ve rolled her eyes and grunted that they were going for coffee then Jaime would've laughed and said something obnoxious like, “Whoa, pulling out all the stops, I see! But I guess it _is_ your cheat day. Planning to splurge on a salted caramel mocha? Go halfsies on a croissant or cheese Danish? Or is that too rich for his blood? But seriously, smart move, Birdie. This way you can duck out ASAP if it’s a total bust. And the lack of a reservation at a fancy-pants restaurant frees you up so you won’t feel obligated to put out.” 

Hyle would’ve puffed up at that and risen to the bait only to realize he was way out of his depth when Jaime handily destroyed him the way only a Lannister could. But luckily, her nightmarish scenario didn't come to pass. They made it to the lobby without seeing hide nor hair of him.

When Hyle had offered her his arm after they exited the building, she’d taken it, feeling suddenly very grown up and worldly as she strolled down the street in step with him. Here she was going for coffee with a male companion who seemed interested in her like any other woman in her twenties had done a hundred times over. It was so…normal.

Maybe this would be the start of something more. Maybe Hyle would surprise her.

He hadn’t. She’d regretted her decision five minutes in. 

He wasn’t horrible, just kind of rude and self-absorbed and careless about others.

(And not in the charming way Jaime had where he'd sometimes be a dick out in public then inevitably clue in to his ingrained dickishness halfway through. He'd give strangers a self-deprecating chuckle, apologize, then swing to the other extreme to compensate for said dickishness. Extravagant gestures, favors, and big tips usually followed. Bending over backwards to make it right served the dual purpose of alleviating his guilt as well as spiting his father's first teachings about lions and sheep.) 

Hyle, on the other hand, didn't seem to even be aware of his bad behavior. He’d grumped at the barista when the name ‘Kyle’ had been scrawled on his cup. Had rushed over to grab a free table that a couple of older women had been slowly making their way toward. He’d spent most of their conversation regaling her with the knee-slapping antics of all his buddies at the office. She hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise. 

(And unlike Jaime who liked to chatter on, but still maintained eye contact and left meaningful pauses at intervals inviting her to chime in, there was no such back and forth with Hyle. Rather than engaging in conversation, it seemed more like he was delivering a monologue. At her. And mistaking her stone-faced silence for rip-roaring laughter.)

Well then, her vow to not compare the men she dated to Jaime was off to a great start!

When she’d finished her drink, she’d made her excuses. Said she was visiting her father that afternoon and needed to hit the road. 

He’d kissed her goodbye right smack on the lips which she hadn’t seen coming. It was over before she even registered his mouth on hers, but the ambush only solidified her poor opinion of him. That he hadn’t picked up on the fact that she was giving off uninterested vibes or worse, simply hadn’t cared was a big red flag.

When he’d suggested they do this again, she’d said she didn’t think that would be a good idea. He’d looked confused and she’d muttered something about not mixing business with pleasure then high-tailed it out of there.

As she stepped out of the shower and hung the loofah on the hook to dry, she wondered if there’d be any blowback at work from him or his friends. Technically she was several rungs above them on the corporate ladder, but they could still make life difficult for her.

Just what she needed. A vengeful ex who she’d never even actually dated at all. He'd be in good company alongside her disgruntled BFF. 

It'd certainly come full circle. She'd pursued a guy who rejected her only to reject a guy who'd pursued her. She'd never been one for gambling, but if the proverb 'lucky at cards, unlucky in love' held true, she'd make a damn fine card shark.

She’d just cinched the belt of her terry cloth robe tight when there was a knock at the door.

She peeked through the peephole and it was Jaime. Of course, it was. He was the perfect way to cap off this day.

She considered ignoring him. She might’ve still been out. Spent the night at Margaery’s or had a wild date that involved nudity instead of over-priced coffee.

But he knocked again. “I know you’re in there. I saw your light on from the street when I returned home.”

Brienne caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and contemplated throwing on a pair of pajamas before opening the door. But well, he’d seen her like this a million times before. 

Wrapped in terry cloth with her skin scrubbed an unflattering shade of pink and reeking of vanilla, thanks to her favorite body lotion. She drew the line at the frilly shower cap, however. Ditching the cap, she ran a hand through her hair, trying to smooth it down into some semblance of order. Her reflection revealed she needn’t have bothered. Her hair was twice as stubborn as she was and refused to cooperate.

She opened the door and stared at him hard. “It’s not Thursday.”

“No shit. It’s Sunday soon to be Monday. But fuck if I’m waiting three and a half more days to talk to you.” He put his hands on her waist and bodily moved her to the side so he could wedge himself inside the entryway. He leaned back against the door, closing it, his gaze daring her to toss him out on his ear.

“What is it?” she snapped, unnerved by the way he gave her a once-over after he realized she wasn’t going to forcibly remove him.

“Are you really not going to invite me in?”

“Oh, excuse me, your highness, should I sprinkle some rose petals for you?” she grumbled under her breath as she led the way into the living room.

She perched on her armchair primly, scanning herself to make sure her robe wasn’t gapping inappropriately anywhere. The intent way he was studying her kept making her suspect more skin was exposed than she thought.

He settled on the couch in that easy sprawl of his that seemed to claim ownership of her furniture. He met her gaze with a challenging look of his own, but kept his mouth resolutely shut.

If he wanted to play it that way, fine. She could wait him out. He was the biggest chatterbox she’d ever had the misfortune to meet. He’d break long before she did. Just as he’d always blinked first during a staring contest. He could never stay still or quiet for very long.

He smiled slightly, the corner of his lips quirking upward as if he knew what she was thinking which, of course, he did. The smile was one she hadn’t seen in over a month yet it was so familiar and so dear to her that she shook her head and drew a hand over her face, trying to wipe the fondness from her expression before he saw. But she was too late. He chuckled lowly.

God, she’d missed him. 

She'd kept herself busy the last month, ensuring her schedule was jam-packed so she didn't have time to wallow. She got into work early and stayed late, joined a new gym and discovered a scenic hiking path on the other side of the lake. 

She visited her dad every other weekend, went to hot yoga with Missandei, babysat Cat so Sansa and Sandor could have a night on the town, went for drinks with Margaery, and reconnected online with a couple college friends she'd drifted away from. All of that should've provided sufficient distraction, but she still felt the sheer hollowness of her nearly Jaime-less life acutely, especially in bed late at night. 

She'd stare up at her ceiling, unable to sleep, and consider just firing off a text to Jaime, taking everything back and begging him to come over. 

At their last lunch, she'd desperately wanted to suggest they skip out on the rest of their workday and just go back to her place and snuggle on the couch like old times. Maybe take a nap.

He was still as handsome as ever, maybe moreso what with the beard he'd grown since they'd dialed back their friendship, but she could tell he wasn't exactly well-rested either from the faint dark smudges under his eyes. She'd imagined the look of relief that'd brighten his countenance if she extended such an invitation to him. 

The words had been on the tip of her tongue as they stood outside the diner, but then he'd hugged her goodbye, and the sudden, shivery pleasure she took from being in his arms again reminded her why that would be a bad idea. She was proof you could live in denial for years, but once you lifted your head out of the sand, there was no going back. 

She was still in love with him. But unlike before, she was painfully aware of that fact. It would only hurt worse if she gave in and settled for half-measures with him. She'd need time and space if she were ever going to fall _out_ of love with him. But it was a nonstarter if Jaime just flagrantly disregarded the rules and barged in at night whenever he pleased.

She arched a brow and jutted her chin out, daring him to explain himself. He laughed again at her obvious irritation.

Then he said the absolutely last thing she could ever have expected.

“Cersei cheated on me. Apparently she’s been cheating on me for years,” he announced nonchalantly as if speaking of the weather. “And I don’t care.”

Brienne blinked, completely caught off-guard.

“Well, I mean, I care. It stung to learn the truth. But that’s all it did…sting. It didn’t devastate me. It didn’t make me mad with rage. Not the way the sight of your hand in the crook of Kyle’s arm did this morning.”

She inhaled sharply, blood pounding in her ears.

“If I were a better man, I’d wait longer. Another month or two before telling you all this so you’d know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this isn’t a rebound or whatever. In a movie there’d be a poignant montage that covered a time jump of a season, maybe even an entire year, but I’m not that patient. More to the point, I’m scared shitless you’ll find someone else while I'm off on some self-indulgent soul-searching mission that'll only confirm what I already know: we belong together. I love you and if you still love me, too, I don’t want to wait.”

No, _that_ was the absolutely last thing she ever expected to hear from him.

“I want to be with you now,” he continued ruthlessly as if the floor hadn’t dropped out beneath her. “I feel like we’ve already lost so much time. I was an idiot who never should’ve let you go. Not a month ago. Not way back when we were teens and I kissed you for the first time. Am I too late? Please tell me Kyle, the blahest coworker to ever blah, hasn’t swept you off your feet. I see you didn’t invite him in to spend the night which is encouraging…”

“Wait a minute, rewind. Start from the beginning,” she said, holding up a hand. “You just found out Cersei cheated on you…”

He huffed a sigh. “I saw Kettleblack coming out of her place and when we had it out, she admitted he’s just one of many,” he said blandly. “She lashed out and flung all her indiscretions at me and in doing so, only proved the damning lack of fucks I had to give about her infidelity.” 

It was like she’d entered the Twilight Zone. Was she dreaming? She didn’t think so because even her imagination wouldn’t conjure up something so absurd. This wasn’t Jaime. He would never say things like this. Not about Cersei. Not about her.

Jaime scooted closer to her. “It makes sense, though. I’d be a hypocrite, wouldn’t I, if I gave Cersei hell for that when I’ve done much worse. My betrayal was unforgivable.” 

“B-Betrayal?” Brienne sputtered. She’d never known a boyfriend to be more devoted than Jaime Lannister. Women fell at his feet in droves wherever he went and yet he’d always stayed true to Cersei. He hadn’t even flirted or spared an appreciative glance for any of his admirers that Brienne could see. He was loyal to a fault and would’ve done anything for Cersei. _Anything_.

“What else would you call cheating on her almost our entire relationship? I was unfaithful to her, if not in deed then in every other single way that mattered. But actually, as it turns out…I can’t help feeling like my fucker of a little brother was right and that Cersei was the other woman in this scenario. _You_ were my primary relationship.”

“What are you talking about? We were just friends. She was the one you were… _in love_ with.” Even now it was difficult to verbalize. The words lodged in her throat like pebbles. They'd been so careful over the years to avoid the topic of Cersei altogether, skirting around the edges of it as if it were a great, gaping maw that could swallow them whole. She'd always known how it was, it went without saying, but speaking of the disparity between them aloud was a new form of torture. Tears swam in her vision and she bit her lip. “You just loved me like a sister.”

He scoffed. “Like a sister I wanted to fuck! Come on, Brienne, you were there. All those years, all that time with us practically fused together. I couldn’t keep my hands off you. The things we told each other, the way we fought and made up and laughed and cried. Christ, I eye-fucked you like I’ve never eye-fucked anyone. I _loved_ you like I’ve never loved anyone. Don’t pretend that you were blind to it. To us. That’s why you told me how you felt a month ago. A part of you _knew_ that I felt the same.”

“But you said you didn’t. What changed between then and now?” She didn’t give him the chance to answer. “I’ll tell you what changed…You found out your beloved soulmate cheated on you. I get it. It’s a big shock. A lot to process. You’ve been with her for over half your life. It’s no wonder you’re confused. But the truth is you came to me for comfort or for revenge. Not love. And I refuse to be your fallback plan. Your consolation prize."

Jaime lunged at her and pulled her up onto her feet and into his arms. “What changed?” he growled. “Not a damn thing. I’ve wanted you for years.”

He hastily undid the first three buttons of his shirt then guided her hand to his bare chest, urging it over to his shoulder until she could feel the scar from the bullet wound against her palm. “Since this. I’ve wanted you since this. That’s when I began dreaming about you. And let me tell you, there was nothing platonic about these dreams. They were naked dreams, sinful dreams, positively _filthy_ dreams…my most recent spank-bank material involves you riding me on this armchair right here, me bending you over that table,” he said pointing into the kitchen, “you sucking me off in the shower, me eating you out under your desk at work and winking at Kyle on my way out, my beard glistening with the fruits of my labor...”

She blushed scarlet and was so mortified she had to bury her face in his neck. “I get it, I get it. Stop.”

He kissed the crown of her head and his arms came up around her waist, fiddling with her belt.

“You were right. This isn’t friendship. Isn’t family. Isn't what I had with Cersei. It’s more.” He shifted to whisper in her ear. “It’s always been more. Don’t you see, if anyone was a consolation prize, it was Cersei...and after you dumped me, I realized a golden retriever would've consoled me better than she did. I could never _settle_ for you, that'd be like settling for the fucking sun you orbit. Fuck, you’re _everything_ to me. And you have been since the very beginning. My feelings for you haven’t changed at all. I just didn’t see it for what it was until now. I thought my boners were dyslexic.”

Brienne reared backward. “ _What?_ ”

He smirked. “I thought I loved you so much that my dick had gotten confused and jumbled everything. You know, the way letters jump around when I try to read a book. Don't look at me like I'm crazy, Birdie. The way I figure it you’re just as much to blame as I am. Just as comically dense and oblivious. I mean, I tried to remember to tilt my hips away from you when I could, but we spooned so much that you had to have felt my cock trying to make friends with you, especially when we cuddled so aggressively we were practically intertwined. What did you think that was nudging against your hip, your thigh, your ass?”

“I – I thought that was just a guy thing,” she admitted, her voice uncharacteristically high and reedy. “That’s what Margaery said. Plus there was pressure. Friction. I thought it was just a natural consequence of our…closeness.”

Jaime snorted. “A natural consequence of my horniness, more like.” His hands slid up her sides to cradle her face. All amusement faded away. “Years before I met you I’d already slotted Cersei into the love of my life category. So when you came along you made me reel. What I felt for you was so intense. I knew you were important, precious to me, but it was so different from all I’d ever known that I was at a loss. Before that, I’d had my brother and I’d had Cersei, but I’d never had a real friend, and certainly not a best friend. I thought that must be what you were to me. 

“And after I slotted you into that role, I never questioned it. Not once. I never gave in, not even when you were in my arms and you smelled, fuck, you smelled just as good as you do right now, and I was _this close_ to just covering your mouth with mine and mindlessly rutting against you. Looking back now I think I was terrified of ruining what we had. Cersei came and went. You saw how we were. It was rocky, full of ups and downs, mostly downs as time went on. That’s what I thought true love was. I would never have risked us, never have let us turn into _that_ , no matter how much I wanted you.” 

He stepped closer and pressed against her in an unmistakable way. “No matter how much, I _still_ want you. But I was wrong. It’s obvious now that we could never be that. Sex won’t change who we are. We’ll still be close, still talk and laugh and bicker, still eat pancakes on Sunday. It’s just on top of all that I’ll also get to fuck your brains out on a regular basis like I’ve been wanting to do since forever. So the only question now is: did you mean what you said a month ago? Or has our time apart only made you realize you’re better off without me…” he trailed off, the manipulative, guilt-tripping bastard rubbing his shoulder pitifully.

Brienne could only grab him by the front of his shirt and tug him in. “Shut up,” she said against his lips.

He didn’t laugh as she expected. Instead he surged forward, crowding her against the wall and kissing her as if his life depended on it. 

It was different from the only other time they’d kissed. On the floor of her childhood bedroom, even when the kiss grew heated before he pulled away, his passion had been fueled by hormones. He’d wielded his lust like a blunt instrument, straightforward with little finesse. He’d been more experienced than her, but still just a kid himself. 

He was a man now. And she felt it in the scrape of his bearded jaw against her palms, in the size of his hands molding her body to his, in the self-assured way he claimed her mouth. He’d had nine more years to perfect his technique, and perfect it he had. 

Brienne sighed into the kiss and felt her knees weaken. She was suddenly glad the wall was there to keep her upright. 

His fingers toyed with the knot of her belt and he drew away to look at her questioningly, waiting for permission to proceed.

They were poised on the precipice. There was still time to back away from the ledge. She was flustered and didn’t really know what she was doing and was embarrassed at how turned on she was from just a little kissing, but none of that mattered. 

She wanted him.

She nodded brusquely and with one smooth flick of his wrist, her robe parted and his arms darted inside, hands roaming her bare body as he nipped her earlobe, nuzzled her jawline, kissed the column of her neck. She gasped as he cupped her breast, pinched her nipple, and he grinned against her collarbone. 

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that? Years! I swear your breasts were made for my hands. They’re the perfect fit.” 

Brienne felt drunk on him, reckless and giddy like she never was. “Like Cinderella’s glass slipper?”

"Nah, I reject that analogy," he said with a throaty laugh then swooped in and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently with just a hint of teeth before drawing back to blow on the sensitized skin. “See? No foot fetish, but sign me up for suckling your tits all the live long day.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” she managed breathlessly and Jaime slanted her a devilish look that warned her to be careful what she wished for.

“I’ll keep that in mind. How much would you blush, do you think? Neon red all over or blotchy pink just in and around your face and neck? Would you be rendered speechless or whimper and beg me for more? How long do you think it’d take for you to come just from me licking your pebbled rosy peaks? Oh well, we’ll find out soon enough. Some other day when I'm a little less on edge and can take my time with you." His gaze softened as his knuckles lazily scuffed circles over her lower back, making her shiver. "You okay? Is this...too fast? Do we need to slow it down? I want to stay, but we don't have to...We can just talk if you want. But please don't make me go. I've missed you like hell." 

And there was a tentative, boyish quality to his voice that endeared him to her even more. It reminded her of their history. Of how even though he knew her better than any other, he wasn’t taking their familiarity for granted. For all his talk, there were no expectations or assumptions on his part…just hope.

She let her actions speak for her and with a slight shimmy, her robe dropped to the floor.

His face shone with awe. For all that she was the one bared before him, he was the one who looked utterly vulnerable in that moment. 

Brienne reached out to finish unbuttoning his shirt. Her hands were trembling a bit, but she still made quick work of it and it joined her robe on the carpet. Then she let her fingertips trace the raised, silver scar on his shoulder that they’d always joked resembled a bear rearing up on its hind legs. She leaned forward to press her lips to the spot.

Jaime exhaled as if the wind had been knocked out of him. 

Then she took his hand and led him to her bed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy the epilogue.

They threw the deadbolt, shut out the outside world, and fell into bed together, basking in a cocoon of aching pleasure, sensual delight, and pure, unfettered joy for a solid month, only leaving her place to go to work.

Just their way of making up for lost time, she supposed. They'd been starved of contact for 30 days so it only made sense they'd spend the next 30 glutting on one another. 

The first night her back hit the mattress and he loomed over her, Brienne's boldness left her in a whoosh and she suddenly felt shy and insecure. 

Because this was Jaime. The boy she'd loved forever. And what if she disappointed him? What if reality didn't live up to the fantasy? What if she didn't know what to do and he discovered that he actually wasn't in love with her, after all? 

He went very still above her and said, "Hey, hey, it's just me." He pressed his forehead to hers and she clutched his shoulders, feeling her entire body relax under the familiar weight and shape of him. "That's it. I've got you and you've got me. There's nothing to be frightened of here. We're us." 

It was easy after that. It wasn't a matter of doing this or doing that in a specific order. There was no right or wrong. It was just about exploring what felt good for the both of them. What felt natural.

When he was sheathed in her, buried to the root, they both froze, muscles straining, and she released a gusty sigh. As close as they'd been to each other over the years, and there were times when she'd been in his arms when she hadn't known where she ended and he began, it'd been nothing like this. They'd never been naked and slick with sweat and panting, clinging skin to skin. 

He'd never been _inside_ her. 

It was new, a little uncomfortable, but unspeakably intimate. 

"Oh," she gasped. 

"Yeah," Jaime agreed. 

"Is it always..." 

"No," he said gruffly. 

"You're in me," she said stupidly and he gave a low, throaty laugh. 

"I'm in you. This is always how it was meant to be. Fuck, this feels..." 

"I know," she said, wrapping her legs around his back, urging him on. 

Then he began to move and she thought she might cry from the breathtaking closeness she felt to him right then as he fucked her with a thoroughness that left her feeling even more exposed, even more known. 

He moved with purpose, slow and sweet, over her, into her, coaxing her to meet him halfway and join his rhythm. Peering into her eyes, he searched her expression as if cataloguing every twitch of unease or glimmer of pleasure so he could adjust if necessary. 

It was good she hadn't put a kibosh on soulful stares, after all, since that was their main mode of communication other than bitten-off curses and long, drawn out sighs. The way he rasped her name as he thrust inside her made her heart gallop. 

Proving that they just might deserve the title of most nauseatingly sentimental couple of all time, exchanging whispered "I love you"s was ultimately what tipped them over the edge. 

14 days into their courtship Brienne picked up Jaime's gauntlet. He'd been joking at the time he made the dare as well as a little drunk, but she was never the type to back down from a challenge. They explored his fantasies one by one, ticking every last box in the span of a single week. A heady, orgasmic week that left them so spent Brienne was surprised they lived to tell the tale.

On Monday evening, she double-checked the blinds were shut tightly before straddling him in the armchair. She kept her tank top on, despite his pouty pleas to peel it off her. He should just be glad she let him keep the lights on for this.

When she gingerly lowered herself into his lap she worried she was too heavy and kept trying to go to her knees, but he growled, "None of that," and hauled her bodily down onto him, molding her flush against him and distracting her with feverish kisses and scorching caresses so that by the time she took his cock inside her, she was too keyed up and greedy to be self-conscious.

Jaime's firm hands on her helped her find her rhythm and soon she instinctively rolled her hips without any need for encouragement from him, increasing her pace as she got the hang of it. She was surprised by how much she liked the power and control of being on top, riding him. 

She couldn't get enough of his desperate, glazed gaze looking up at her as if he was at her mercy. And in the end the threadbare cotton of her tank top hadn't stopped him from suckling her breasts through the thin material to his heart's content so he had no reason to complain. 

His fantasy of bending her over the kitchen table didn't quite go to plan Tuesday morning. Brienne felt somewhat awkward and ridiculous when she assumed the position, holding onto the edge of the table so he could presumably pound her from behind. But he never did. 

He kept rubbing her shoulders and kissing her spine and palming her ass, and basically lavishing attention on every inch of her within reach that he never got around to entering her. 

By the time she was a boneless puddle of mush beneath him and he had worked himself up into a frantic state, he'd apparently changed his mind about what he wanted. Because he spun her around and hoisted her up onto the table, urgently drawing her legs over his shoulders and fucking her like that with her ankles bobbing up around his ears. 

"Christ, you're limber as fuck! You're gonna be the death of me!" he groaned as he went buck wild over her and the pounding she'd expected finally commenced, if not in the manner she'd originally anticipated. The ferocity of the fuck was electrifying beyond belief.

Luckily, the table was sturdy enough to take a vicious thumping from their not insignificant combined weight. Neither of them would've been too keen on having to fit in a visit to the ER before work. Or having to explain the cause of their injuries to the unamused medical staff.

For Wednesday's challenge, she'd already learned the mechanics of the blowjob in the bedroom the week before because apparently shower oral sex was considered an Extreme Sport by Jaime and advance training was required. 

(She found she liked the act more than she'd expected. The trust inherent in such a frightfully personal exchange appealed to her. The drag and stretch of his cock in her mouth, the slightly bitter taste on her tongue, the gentle pressure of his hands framing her face, of his thumbs skimming her cheekbones, the roughness of his gravelly voice contrasted with the sweetness of murmured endearments set her aglow, making her feel drowsy and pliant and utterly sun-drenched.) 

On the day of the 'main event' he asked if she still had the knee pads from her hockey days. She blinked at him owlishly, trying to follow his train of thought to no avail. When she said they were in storage at her dad's, he grabbed a thick towel and bunched it on the floor of the shower stall as if he'd confused her with some other more delicate girl whose dainty knees would bruise like a peach or something. His absurd thoughtfulness inspired a surge of tenderness to bloom behind her breastbone.

Staging a blowjob in the shower took some doing, getting situated so neither of them would be pelted by the hot spray, but they finally managed to get into position. She knelt and palmed his hips, looked up at him and barely got her mouth around the tip before he was coming down her throat. She kind of choked and gagged because she hadn't expected it so soon. 

Jaime was mortified, blushed like he never did, and reached out to frantically wipe her mouth and chin clean with the pads of his fingers. He apologized profusely first with a rapid fire of words then with a rapid flick of his tongue as he sank down onto the sodden towel and spread her thighs to reciprocate at much greater length. 

Every time she crossed her legs at work later that day she felt the telltale sting of beard-burn along her inner thighs and brought the heel of her palm up to her mouth to cover her small sly smile. She'd never been _sly_ a day in her life up until then. She didn't know what had gotten into her. Well, other than Jaime. Apparently this was her brain on Jaime Lannister...sly and a bit naughty and prone to spontaneous fits of smiling.

Thursday afternoon Jaime showed up with takeout for lunch in her office. The mischievous smirk on his face and the wicked glint in his eye told her everything she needed to know about why he was there. But she had no intention of letting him wedge himself under her desk and drive her wild while her colleagues were loitering just on the other side of the door. 

She tried to be stern and forceful when she said they would just eat lunch and no hanky panky, but her resolve faltered in the face of his disarming charm. In the end she let him kiss her until her lips were swollen, let him run his hands all over her (but only over the clothes, mister) as if they were two horny kids hooking up in an abandoned classroom, equally scared yet aroused by the prospect of being caught canoodling by a teacher. 

Not that Brienne had ever engaged in such behavior. And she doubted that Jaime had either. Cersei would never have lowered herself to do anything as juvenile as that when they could simply skip school and book a room at a four star hotel. 

Brienne had to admit there was something thrilling about Jaime nibbling her earlobe and sliding his hand into the back pocket of her trousers to cup her ass, making her squirm closer and press her mouth against his shoulder to muffle her moans. When her lunch break was officially over and she kicked him out, she didn't have to follow him into the hall to know he'd make good on his fantasy of flashing Hyle a wink and a shit-eating grin on his way out.

As for how many licks it took to get to the center of Brienne's Tootsie Pop...Friday night they discovered it took approximately 20 minutes for her to come just from him licking her nipples (although he employed some rousing dirty talk between strategic licks that pushed her buttons) and Saturday morning they discovered he could get her there in 15 if he added suction and also swept his thumb over a sensitive spot on her neck at the same time. 

And as it so happened, she was in fact rendered speechless or at least incoherent by his ministrations and flushed all over from head to toe. Her blush was a garish magenta shade that did her no favors. Besotted fool that he was, Jaime said it became her.

While they ate Sunday breakfast, he begged her to divulge her most desperate desires. "Tell me what you want. _Anything_ you want, I'll do it," he swore, touching her face intently.

The problem was that unlike Jaime, Brienne had never entertained such detailed sexual fantasies previously. Probably because she'd had almost no sexual experience to speak of, watched very little porn, and didn't have a vivid imagination when it came to that kind of thing. 

They'd all been vague and blurred around the edges, tasteful, of the fade to black variety, but every time they sparked skin to skin in real life, she felt what she'd been searching for in all of those hazy dreams. 

She promised she'd think about it and get back to him then kissed him leisurely, savoring the maple syrup on his tongue. When she withdrew, the dazzling sight of Jaime limned by sunlight took her breath away. He was golden. _They_ were golden.

What was fantasy compared to this?

Gradually, thanks to her ever-expanding repertoire in the bedroom and Jaime's curious prodding of her id, a couple fantasies began to take shape. 

One involved Jaime's Jacuzzi which he'd been only too happy to make a reality. He had been taken aback, however, when she insisted they don swim gear first. Somehow it seemed indecent to start out naked. When he brought up their wet and wild activities in the shower as a counterpoint, she retorted that that was different (how was it different? it just was!) and tossed his swim trunks at him. 

She didn't know how wearing her swimsuit in front of him could make her blush after everything they'd already done, but his heated gaze managed it in two seconds flat. The blush only intensified as he whispered in her ear all of the filthy fantasies he'd had of them in the pool after her swim meets in high school. 

His were a heck of a lot more elaborate and explicit than hers which had merely consisted of a nebulous vision of them making love while submerged in warm, bubbly water, wreathed in steam. But even if her vision verged on the provincial, it didn't disappoint. What followed turned out to be a delightful romp. 

Her second fantasy, on the other hand, didn't live up the hype. It involved the backseat of his car which she soon learned was overrated and a mistake for adults their size. Teens may be reduced to fucking in cramped, uncomfortable spaces for lack of a better option. But Jaime and she...they had better options. 

Options that featured king size beds and silk sheets and plush pillows. Options that didn't inflict aches and pains and cricks in their necks.

They were getting _old_ , Jaime bemoaned to her after their ill-conceived interlude. Brienne couldn't exactly refute that as they both walked with a bit of a limp the rest of the day.

In amidst all the ravenous sex, they did a whole lot of what they'd done a million times before. They spooned on the couch as they watched TV, traded back rubs as they listened to podcasts, ate dinner as they bitched about their workday. It was comforting that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. They really were who they'd always been just with bonus mind-blowing sex. Simple as that.

Cloistered away as they were, it was a miracle they were able to keep their altered relationship status a secret as long as they did.

She was Skyping with Sansa when it all went to hell. She'd thought she was in the clear since Jaime was still fast asleep in bed as she'd crept into the living room to take the call. She was trying to allay Sansa's suspicions about why exactly she'd seemingly fallen off the face of the earth the past month...work had been insane, you see...when Jaime called out to her in that posh, too damn distinctive, cut-glass accent of his.

"Where, oh where, has my blue-eyed Birdie flown? Come back to bed, Brienne." 

Before she could even try to brush it off and convince her friend that it was coming from the TV, Sansa squealed. 

Then Jaime, in all his ruggedly handsome troublemaking glory, emerged from the bedroom in low slung boxer briefs. He ignored her urgent gestures to abort! abort! and instead wandered over to lazily wrap his arms around her waist, rest his chin on her shoulder and give her a tender kiss on the cheek in plain view of Sansa. Who squealed again.

"I _knew_ it!" she crowed, jumping up and down. 

The cat was well and truly out of the bag now because once you told Sansa something you could be sure everyone would know by the end of the day. 

Jaime didn't understand her reservations about letting everyone in on their secret. He got a little defensive when she refused to speak her mind, asking her if she thought it wasn't going to last and didn't want to bother telling their friends about something she deemed fleeting. "Tell me, is there an expiration date on us, Birdie? Am I a _fling?_ " he demanded with a snarl. 

Brienne told him not to be silly. "I'm just worried about the real world intruding. Everything's been so perfect so far. I'm not sure I'm ready to see us through other people's eyes yet. Letting them pass judgment on us opens us up to criticism." And mockery, although she knew better than to give voice to that thought in front of Jaime. "I don't want us to be picked apart or for what we have to be distorted, twisted into something it's not. We've already dissected our entire relationship ourselves and finally come to terms with who we were and who we are now, I don't want to invite others to have their say."

"Were you planning to put it to a vote?" he asked mildly and his brows furrowed in that way that meant he was deeply amused, but trying to hide it for her benefit. "You're giving them way too much power, and us far too little. Who gives a fuck what they say? We're rock solid. If something's gonna break, it won't be us. The real world should be worried about what we think of it, not the other way around. Besides, if we don't make every last person in our lives green with envy at the sight of our horny bliss, we'll have done something very, very wrong." 

Jaime lunged at her then, tackling her to the couch, trying and failing to pin her beneath him. Wrestling soon gave way to tickling which gave way to uproarious laughter that made their bellies hurt from wheezing so hard and streaked their faces with tears. When they straightened and glanced in the mirror, one glimpse of their hysteria-induced blotchy reflections only set them off again.

She wasn't surprised when Sansa texted her later that day and invited them over for dinner that weekend.

She was even less surprised when they showed up at her place Sunday evening to see that the entire gang was there.

Ever the proper hostess, Sansa greeted them at the door to take their coats. Sandor was in charge of the barbecue. Arya was tending bar with some unsolicited input from Gendry. Tyrion and Bronn were already happily imbibing of their mad mixology skills. Jon was chasing after Cat who was chasing after the neighbor's fluffy kitty in the backyard. 

Missandei was introducing Margaery to Dany, a fellow doc-in-training who'd been matched to the same residency program as her. And last but not least, Gilly and Sam had commandeered the oak bench out back under the fairy lights and were busy showing Addam and his fiancée Dacey pictures from their recent trip to The Wall. 

Jaime had done his best to dissuade Brienne from attending the dinner at the last minute. Dragging his feet and employing all his most effective seduction techniques. 

"Sunday is _our_ day," he'd wheedled, nuzzling her temple and toying with the hem of her blouse. "I don't know why we have to spend it with others. C'mon, just tell Sansa we were unavoidably detained and that we need to reschedule. I'll make it worth your while..."

She'd understood the impulse. They'd both gotten dressed for the night, taken one look at each other all gussied up and felt compelled to immediately tear the other's clothes off. She'd wanted to rumple his suit in the worst way. He'd looked so unbelievably dashing in it. But it was too late to cancel.

She'd shoved him aside none-too-gently before his talented tongue could weaken her resolve. "Jaime, we've been mole people for over a month now. We have to rejoin the world at some point. Plus, a change of scenery will do us good. I just might get sick of your face if I have to stare at it a second longer."

He'd tugged on her ponytail with a laugh. "Liar! You could never get sick of this face! You could dedicate odes to my chiseled jawline just as I could compose sonnets devoted to your exquisite eyes, plump lips, this darling spray of forget-me-not freckles on the bridge of your nose, these powerful shoulders, shapely legs, pert bust...where was I?" he'd drifted off dreamily before shaking himself. 

"Ah, yes, my Roman nose alone could keep you mesmerized for the rest of your life. That's character, right there. The nose knows. Broken twice, it's an inspiration to all who beholds its majesty. It's just begging to have poems written, songs sung, or at the very least you could circulate a treatise on its resilience..." Then, perhaps inevitably, he'd launched into song. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stand a little taller..."

But now lingering at the threshold of their worlds colliding, old fears crept back in and Brienne wondered if this was premature. If they shouldn't just turn tail and scurry back home. But then Jaime took her hand and smiled so brightly, so unashamedly dopily at her, she could only smile in return. "What?" she asked.

"I never got to do this," he said then paused, squeezing her hand meaningfully, "with people around. I always had to be so damn careful." 

A lump formed in her throat and she squeezed his hand back. That seemed to be all the invitation he needed to drape himself all over her for the rest of the get-together. 

He slung his arm around her shoulders, around her waist, kissed her temple, fiddled with her ponytail, gazed at her the way he'd only ever done behind closed doors. And she found herself reaching back and knew that the same dopey expression was on her face, too.

It only took a single glance at their linked hands for their friends to cast knowing, indulgent looks their way as they welcomed them with big hugs. Gilly and Missandei smiled warmly to show their support. "It's about time!" Addam said with a laugh as he pounded Jaime on the back. 

Brienne's anxiety scattered to the four winds. All at once she realized her concerns about her friends' reactions had been unfounded and rather unfair to them. Of course, they wanted the best for she and Jaime, and she should've remembered that. 

If they were the unkind, petty sort who took pleasure in gossiping about others' love lives, she wouldn't have called them friend. (Well, except for Margaery who could be petty and gossipy, but in a humorous way that rarely bordered on cruel.)

Sansa beamed proudly as if she wanted to pat the heads of her two star pupils for accurately solving the equation she'd scrawled on the blackboard at long last. But instead of a brain-teaser most enigmatic, it was one of those memory games where you simply had to pair up symbols. All they'd needed to do was realize they were a match. 

Brienne couldn't begrudge Sansa taking pride in the role she'd played in their eventual happiness. If her friend had never said anything to her, Brienne might never have admitted the truth to herself, let alone shared it with Jaime. And they'd still probably be suspended in denial, living the half-life of before.

Not everyone was as pleased as punch for them as Sansa, though.

Brienne didn't know what had happened between Jaime and Tyrion, but there was a tension there when they came face to face at dinner. Jaime's hold on her tightened and his jaw clenched as he steered her away, snubbing his brother completely. 

Tyrion kept his distance after that, but Brienne noticed how he kept studying them, tracing every contour of his brother's expression, lingering on it most especially when Jaime was at his most unguarded. Which was more often than not that night since he was reveling in his newfound freedom and all about the PDA, doting on her like the sun rose and set on her. 

She didn't know what to make of Tyrion's scrutiny. Did he think she wasn't good enough for his brother? Did he think Cersei still had a claim on him?

She even caught Tyrion's gaze boring into them when Jaime pulled her into his arms so they could sway gently to the strumming of Jon's guitar and the lilting melody of Dany's silvery voice. But then Jaime had pressed his forehead to hers and his fingertips had danced over the small of her back and the world had fallen away, including his possibly disapproving little brother.

When they were briefly separated later that evening, Brienne saw Margaery corner Jaime near the fireplace. Just as she was debating whether she should intervene because knowing her friend as she did, she could be reliably sure honeyed threats were being issued, someone cleared their throat. 

Sandor, of all people, had sidled up next to her. 

She's always felt a strange brand of kinship to him even though they were never particularly close. They both could out-abrade the other. Taciturn and blunt, huge and ugly, great shambling giants the pair of them. And now they had yet another thing in common.

Each beast had somehow managed to capture the heart of a beauty. Just as Sandor had wed his fair maiden, Brienne had inexplicably been swept off her feet by her very own knight in shining armor. Fairy tales weren't for people like them and yet...wonder of wonders, here they each were living out their dreams.

"You happy?" he finally asked. 

She nodded, too overcome by the sheer breadth of her joy to put it into words. He scanned her rosy complexion then nodded gruffly in response. He nudged her with his shoulder so hard it would've knocked a smaller person down, but it only made her huff and nudge him back. 

"If pretty boy fucks up, call me. I can help bury the body." His menacing air was slightly undermined by the way he proceeded to lumber away to gently scoop up his daughter and kiss her on the crown of her head.

Jaime rejoined her a minute later and asked what dear old Sandor had to say to her. "Did he congratulate you on landing such a great catch?"

She gave a wry shake of her head. "In his own way, I suppose." 

"Is that why he just flashed me the universal I've-got-my-eyes-on-you hand gesture?"

Sure enough, Brienne turned just in time to see Sandor stabbing his fingers at Jaime in an unmistakable fashion. Again, the way Cat was currently riding his shoulders, grasping tufts of his hair in her tiny fists as if they were the reins to her trusty steed ruined the overall effect somewhat. She swallowed a chuckle. "He's just looking out for me."

"Him and everyone else here," Jaime said with a rueful grin. "Arya warned me not to do anything that'd warrant putting me on her list. I don't even know what that means but, based on the way she was twirling her steak knife, I don't _want_ to know. I just met Dany today and she seemed sweet as pie right up until she informed me that Missandei had told her all about how amazing you are and that it'd be a real shame if I screwed up and burned you in some way. Then she took a last drag from her cigarette and blew smoke directly _in my face_ in this really pointed way like she might legit set me on fire if I fuck up. And just now, Margaery made it abundantly clear that I don't deserve you which...fair enough, but then she insinuated she'd lop off my balls and shove them down my gullet if I vex you by so much as forgetting to put the toilet seat down."

Brienne cupped his face. "Poor baby. I've been telling you for years, mean girls are terrifying. They will slit your throat with their cutting remarks and smile serenely while you bleed out." 

His hands covered hers, thumbs brushing over her knuckles lovingly. "It's good I have you to protect me, then."

"Always," she promised and it came out more earnest than she intended, her voice cracking on the word. 

Jaime's expression softened, turning impossibly tender and he leaned in to kiss the corner of her mouth, his hand tangling in her hair.

"Well, well, well, if my brother isn't the smitten kitten," Tyrion said, approaching with a drink in his hand. "Don't mind me, lovebirds, I'll only take a moment of your time. I must say this is quite the turn of events. I've never seen you _fawn_ over anyone...not even...." 

"Tyrion!" Jaime snapped and his brother lifted his hands in surrender, spilling some of his rum in the process, but Cersei's name hung in the air, casting a pall over the conversation.

"But I think I'm beginning to understand. This isn't new, is it? This connection. This is how you always were together. Just in private where no one could see. You hid," he said to his brother and he sounded almost accusatory. Tyrion cocked his head. "You hid...from me."

Jaime tipped his chin upward in challenge. "That's one way of looking at it," he said coolly. "Another is that you're not nearly as observant as you'd like to believe."

"Touché."

Even unaware of what all transpired between the brothers, Brienne could tell Tyrion was trying to make amends in his own prickly way so she offered him a half-smile and invited him to dinner next week.

Tyrion accepted in that business-like tone that suited him, but that always made Brienne feel unaccountably small in his presence. "My brother...happily in love. Never thought I'd live to see the day. Good for you."

To Brienne's ears, Tyrion sounded like a condescending jerk, but Jaime who was fluent in Lannister doublespeak obviously heard something she didn't. He visibly thawed a bit as he nodded at his brother as if they'd reached an understanding of some kind. 

When Tyrion sought out Gendry to freshen up his drink, Bronn took his place. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and grinned toothily at them.

"For the record, I called all this _long_ before the chirpy redhead." 

Jaime arched a skeptical brow. "Really," he replied dryly. "My bullshit detector says otherwise."

"Oh, please, like you were subtle mooning over this one," Bronn scoffed. "You enlisted us to paint letters on our chests spelling out her name and when she scored that last minute goal so they advanced to the playoffs sophomore year, you gave her a standing ovation in more ways than one." He made a lewd gesture and Jaime elbowed him in the ribs. 

Brienne's cheeks flamed at his innuendo, but she felt a little thrill that someone had clocked Jaime's interest in her way back when. She remembered the game in question, the crowd going wild and glancing up into the stands to see Jaime cheering for her, pumping his fist in victory. Her heart had been so full that night.

"I knew you were a goner since then," Bronn barreled on blithely. "After the big win, you pushed your way through her throng of teammates on the field so you could lift her off her feet and spin her around. And it was like everything went into slow-mo as you both smiled goofily at each other like you were filming the end of some fucking chick flick. I'd have to have been blind not to see what was there."

Jaime bristled, the line of his body tensing as a muscle in his jaw twitched. "Why did you spout all that vile shit then?" he asked, making Brienne wonder what vile shit precisely he'd spouted. She could guess, though, considering who Bronn was and what she looked like, and she suspected she was better off remaining in the dark.

"Would you ever have woken the fuck up without me and baby bro riling you up? Or would your head still be stuck up your ass? You should be thanking me. Giving me a fucking medal."

"Oh, I'll give you something," Jaime muttered with audible menace.

Bronn only guffawed. "The point is I saw it from the very beginning. Long before the smug hostess. Fuck if Sansa gets to take sole credit for your hot mess. I played my part and don't you fucking forget it. Never fear, when wedding bells finally ring, I'll find some way to work it into my toast. Just have to think of a classy rhyme for you sporting wood...could, good, hood...I've got it...I could segue into you taking this one's maidenhood!" 

He saluted them jauntily after that parting shot and then swaggered off as they stood gaping at his retreating back.

Brienne cringed not only at his stunning vulgarity, but at the thought that Bronn might've spooked Jaime by getting way ahead of them with all that talk of marriage. But Jaime didn't look hunted so much as calculating as he turned to her, his gaze sharpening. Her breath caught in her throat at the look on his face.

"Hey, the kitchen's empty. Up for a round of Seven Minutes in Heaven?" he purred. There was absolutely nothing angelic about the come-hither gleam in his eye. It was downright devilish, in fact.

Brienne threaded her fingers through his and eagerly led the way. They might be able to steal eight or nine minutes alone. Ten, if they were lucky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for a tumblr anon based on the prompt - I would like you to write a story where Brienne lets Jaime know she feels for him more than just as friends. Unfortunately Jaime lets her down because he doesn’t feel that way. Brienne’s hurt but at least she knows and no more ‘what if’ and overanalyzing actions. Of course they remain friends but it’s just not the same. Brienne moves on (doesn’t have to be with a new guy or anything), all is well until Jaime realizes he's in love with Brienne.


End file.
